This story is about me. Only me. It’s about my ego and insecurities and fears and needs.
I typically write what I think might be useful for others to know and understand, but this is different. It’s more like a diary entry. A confessional. A cry of frustration.
It’s the sort of thing I would address to a wife or partner or trusted companion — if I had a woman in that role. It’s my half of a conversation which I would need to have with someone who loved me and believed in me and was permanently a part of my life.
So this probably isn’t for you.
I’m struggling right now. In many ways, things are the best in my life that they’ve been for at least 20 years. I have stability and purpose again. I know where I want to go. I’m more clear about my values and my priorities than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m struggling with the gap between how things ought to be and the reality I see in front of me. And that gap terrifies me — because nobody lives forever.

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There’s a secret to contentment that selfish people never accept
What if I hadn’t been afraid to follow Paul Finebaum’s advice 20 years ago?
Egypt trying to prove democracy means tyranny of the majority
Kitten outsmarted me for weeks, but Alex finally joined our family
I don’t know how to be popular, and that hurts in a social world
Irony: Libyan rebels now rounding up blacks, sticking them into jails
Some Ohio State football fans believe a U.S. president has superpowers
Goodbye, Thomas (1994-2012)